


Moonlight's Call

by twistedthicket1



Series: Hum like a Honey Bee [3]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: First Time, Fluff, Johnlock - Freeform, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Slowly getting better at writing sex...., Smut, exercise in smut writing, not sure if that's a good thing...
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-29
Updated: 2013-09-29
Packaged: 2017-12-28 00:01:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,804
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/985203
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/twistedthicket1/pseuds/twistedthicket1
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock can't sleep, and John can't help but notice how the moon turns his partner to edges of silver and white.<br/>Perfect.<br/>Poignant.<br/>Stone marble.<br/>There is nothing more he wants to do than mess it up. To watch it come apart.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Moonlight's Call

**Author's Note:**

> so.... this is pretty much an exercise in shameless smut and fluffies.... :P written for tumblr originally.  
> Let me know if you like! :D I don't usually do fluffy....

 

 

The ghosts of moonlight play haphazard shadows on the detective’s skin, razor-sharp edges of silver and blue. John roused from his half-doze to find Sherlock in much the same position he had been in for most of the night, curled up on the couch with his hands tucked under his chin. His sharp, blue-green eyes seemed to glow in the dark as he stared up at the ceiling, the pale column of his throat luminescent as starlight as he tilted his head back. John rubbed at his eyes wearily, licking his lips free from the taste of sleep as he sat up on the edge of his chair. His blonde hair shone white in the washed-out hue of midnight, the numbers of the clock on the mantle decreeing the witching hour with dark hands. Softly, the doctor smiled as he took in his detective’s figure.

They had been dating for about a month now. 

It still felt strange to think of Sherlock as his  _partner_ , a new word rolling around in John Watson’s mouth, having the potential to have deep and meaningful connotation. Still it tasted strange, like a spoonful of honey in a cup of dark tea, and John didn’t quite know what to make of the word when he addressed what it hinted at. Technically, they were a couple. That much was true.  However neither had been quite boldened enough to take the leap and initiate anything, their relationship hovering somewhere between chaste hands touching and kisses that left the doctor aching and wanting more. Tonight though he looked at Sherlock’s poised form, feeling something stirring in his gut that was at once hungry as it was needy.

There was something ethereal and beautiful about the detective, frozen as if he was a marble statue, perfectly positioned and poised. John felt a desire to take it apart.

Rising to his feet, he crept over to Sherlock’s figure, leaning down to press a deep kiss to the detective’s mouth. The man beneath John initially grunted in irritation, having been interrupted from his thoughts on the latest case. His grumbling came out in a rush, being cut off as he felt the warmth of his partner’s hands cupping his face. 

"What do you want?! I’m thinking!" 

 

John’s fingers run calming circles about Sherlock’s cheeks, dipping lower to lift the detective’s chin upwards to gain better access to his pale throat.  John bit gently against the thrumming pulse of Sherlock’s heartbeat, laving over the purpling mark that blossomed until the detective was squirming beneath him. Sherlock gasped at the sudden spark of need that tingled along his spine, the sensation pooling in his groin as he looked up and saw the pupil-blown eyes of his lover glittering darkly above.

John’s voice was the softest of purrs. 

"Well Sherlock, deduce."

Immediately, the detective’s mind supplied what his physical body already knew.

_Increased heart-rate, pupils dilated. Warmer than usual, his hands and tongue **-God-**_

 

 _ **  
**_His thoughts broke off with a muffled cry as John’s hand travelled down his collarbone, pausing to gently circle Sherlock’s right nipple before climbing back up to trace his jaw. The detective was now partially sitting up, John crawling onto the couch to gain better access to the man. He caged Sherlock with his arms, leaning over-top of him to once against assault his mouth. Sherlock felt heat rush along his cheeks and neck as John expertly ran his tongue over the man’s lower lip, brushing gently for permission before delving deeper into the detective’s mouth. Both were panting slightly, and when Sherlock finally broke away for air he found all thoughts he had previously been analysing gone out the window as he felt John’s hardness throbbing against his leg. His own cock jumped at the feeling the heat of it radiating through his bones. He suddenly felt there was too many layers of clothes dividing him and John, and far too many greedy, wanton emotions roiling in his head.

His hips canted against John’s as his partner slowly began undoing the buttons of Sherlock’s shirt, exposing pale skin to the moonlight as he ducked down to trace the outline of Sherlock’s navel with his tongue. The detective could barely think straight, somehow managing with fingers made clumsy by lust to begin hiking John’s jumper up over his hips. All the while, the army doctor continued with Sherlock’s shirt until the man’s upper half was bare underneath him, and when his hands drifted to the detective’s belt his arm brushed against the obvious erection in the detective’s pants. John groaned when Sherlock cried out, hips snapping forward to grind against his partner’s own length.

“I - Oh God, John. I hav- nev- I… Oh God.”

 

Never before had John seen Sherlock look so thoroughly debauched. His lips were red from snogging, eyes bright and fevered as he writhed underneath him. Soft, desperate sounds that the detective didn’t even seem to be aware he was making came from his throat as John brushed his cock again, a definite dampness staining the front of the man’s expensive trousers. John looked at Sherlock, so effortlessly sexy and pleading, and felt something hot and molten pool in his gut.

 

"Never?" He licked his lips, watching as some of the heat cooled from Sherlock’s eyes, being replaced with shame. The man’s voice grew gruff as he looked away, a pretty rose colour tinting his cheeks as wordlessly he shook his head. Iit was a vulnerable expression, and the army doctor felt a wave of sudden, deep affection for the man. John gently lifted his hand, pulling Sherlock’s chin as he leaned forward until their brows were almost touching. 

He was soft enough that  Sherlock could look away if he wanted to, and yet John’s eyes held the detective’s fiercely as the army doctor deliberately ground against him, stealing both of their breath away.

 

"Don’t _ever_ be sorry for something like that. It’s okay. I love you. We’ll go slowly."

and the unspoken  _you’re mine_ was underlined by John’s hips canting forward again. Sherlock felt his chest tighten at the words, but his love became intensified by lust as John once again resumed to do wonderful things with his tongue against Sherlock’s neck. The detective’s fingers threaded their way through John’s hair as his breath hitched, and a low, rumbling growl tore its way through Sherlock’s throat as he felt his trousers being shirked to his knees. The detective kicked them the rest of the way off as John worked on his own pair of trousers, the friction between them lessening for a moment only to be intensified as the last, final piece of fabric divided them. In the moonlight John’s scar shone on his shoulder, spider-webbing along down his back in whorls and patterns that made Sherlock want to taste.

He indulged in the craving, suddenly and expertly hitching his leg to that both men rolled over, John now on the bottom. The army doctor gasped as Sherlock’s tongue laved over his scar, such an intimate expression of affection that for a moment he thought he might very well come in his pants like a teenager right then. He groaned, the sound rough and raw as he tugged gently at Sherlock’s curls, breath coming more quickly as both of them realized that they were approaching the edge. John’s garbled question shouldn’t have made sense, but Sherlock somehow could translate even though his own brain was fizzling into nothing but pleasure.

 

"D-do you have-?"

"U-under cushions." The detective gasped, grinning slightly at John’s stuttering laugh as the man dug under the couch cushions to produce a bottle of lube. His blonde brows rose as he held it in his hands, and his boyish smile made him appear ten years younger and obscenely dirty as he assessed the implications.

"Thought of everything did you?" 

Sherlock shut him up by grinding down harder, and John quickly got to business pulling down his pants before going for Sherlock’s. Both became totally exposed in the dark, the last vestige of their clothes done away with as both for a moment assessed the other in the night. Sherlock felt a brief moment of self-consciousness, taking the edge off his arousal even though he was painfully horny by this point. What did John think of him? What if this was too far to go?

What if John-

The army doctor cut off his thoughts by opening the bottle of lube, slicking up his fingers before firmly reaching out to grasp Sherlock’s cock. The sudden warmth and delicious wetness of it all caused the detective to let out a wanton groan of pleasure, stars bursting behind his eyelids. John’s hands slowly stroked him from shaft to tip, thumb flicking once, twice over the head. Fire settled deep into Sherlock’s gut as he thrusted helplessly into John’s fist, unable to stop the soft mewls and whimpers of pleasure. A coiling tension mounted in his abdomen, and sensing his climax fast-approaching, John began to thrust in time with his strokes. The added friction caused Sherlock to shudder, and he gripped John’s shoulders to hold onto Earth while his mind was getting ready to soar into the clouds. He could feel it, building and building, threatening to burst. White-hot pleasure coursed through him, and John’s own groans joined him as he took in the sight of Sherlock completely coming apart on top of him. When he could feel himself toppling, edging, Sherlock let out a cry.

_"John-"_

_  
_For a moment he was torn, teetering on the edge, unable to back away and yet unable to leap. Sherlock could feel John beneath him, fast-approaching his own orgasm. But the words that finally did Sherlock in were simple things, whispered roughly into his ear as John’s hand swiped over the head of his cock once, twice.

 

"I want to  _see it._ I want to see you fall apart for me. Come on, love. I’m right here. I’ve got you.”

Fireworks exploded behind his eyelids.

Sherlock came with a shout, muffling his cries into John’s shoulder. His come spilled between them, creating a sticky mess. John soon toppled after, his entire body quivering against Sherlock’s as they both fell into an exhausted state, the wet, satisfied sensation of sex hanging heavy in the air. For a moment they just lay there, shuddering through the aftershocks. Sherlock’s mind was floating, coasting high on a cloud of endorphins. He smiled a slow, lazy smile against John’s neck, feeling the doctor press a soft kiss to his inky curls. John’s voice was low and coarse, the after-affects of sex making him slightly stupid as he chuckled.

 

"That…. that was amazing…."

Sherlock tried to come up with an intelligent answer. 

Instead, what came out of his mouth sounded oozingly affectionate and sleepy.

 

"M. S’wonderful. Must do again."


End file.
